


Starry Eyed

by crystalesbian



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Fame, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Bisexual Isabelle Lightwood, F/F, Lesbian Clary Fray
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-20 07:08:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8240599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystalesbian/pseuds/crystalesbian
Summary: It starts with a necklace, a coffee, and a kiss, and ends up being more than either of them bargained for.-Or, when world-famous actress Isabelle Lightwood walks into Clary's mom's antique shop, both their lives begin to change. Maybe for the better. A Notting Hill AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So I've had this idea for a while now and wanted to finally get it out there. This chapter is probably shorter than the others are going to be, mainly because it's just the set-up. Also, this is un-beta'd, so let me know if there are any mistakes present.

Clary’s brain is still foggy from sleep when she leaves her apartment. She hasn’t had time to do much more than get out of bed, throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and brush her teeth before heading to work. It’s a miracle that her shirt isn’t on backwards and that her shoes are on the right feet. What she wouldn’t give for a coffee right now.

She shouldn’t even be up this early, really, but Dot had called her asking her to fill in at the store because Maureen, who usually works the early morning shifts, had called in sick.

Clary suspects it wasn’t so much that Dot needed the help as it was that she knows Clary needs the hours. The store isn’t terribly busy most days, especially not in the morning, but it makes enough money to keep afloat, and it’s pretty much the only job Clary could find due to her mother being the owner. Turns out, there aren’t a huge number of positions open for newly graduated art majors with little-to-no professional experience. And none of the coffee shops near Clary’s apartment are hiring.

“Morning, Hodge,” she says to her neighbor as she descends down the stairwell. He returns the greeting as she passes him.

When Clary walks into the shop, business is just as slow as she expected it to be. Dot is at the counter, tarot cards laid out in front of her, though she’s currently paying more attention to a copy of the latest _Us Weekly_. “Morning, Dot. You keeping up with the Kardashians?”

“The Lightwoods,” Dot corrects. “Apparently Isabelle and her latest boyfriend split.”

“The guy who she was in that horse racing movie with?”

Dot makes a face. “Oh no, they’ve been broken up for a while now. I never liked them together anyway." Dot makes sure to add, "She was great in that movie, though.”

“You think she’s great in every movie,” Clary says with a laugh.

“Including that one. I mean, the movie itself wasn’t that good, but she was amazing,” Dot says. “Anyway, the latest boyfriend she split with was that gorgeous model guy. With the longish hair? Him.”

“Scandalous. Was the breakup nasty?”

“Unfortunately, no,” Dot sighs. “They parted on mutual terms. Boring.”

“What a shame,” Clary jokes, sliding behind the counter. “Do the tarot cards see a caffeine boost in my future?”

“You might be better at predicting the future than I am. I was just about to go on a coffee run. Get you a cappuccino?”

“Yes, _please_.”

Dot is out the door and Clary is left alone at the counter with the deck of tarot cards and Dot’s magazine left open. Clary picks it up and flips through it absentmindedly. She’s looking at some spread about how “stars are just like us!” because they go grocery shopping or eat sandwiches or whatever else when the bell on the door rings and someone comes into the shop. She looks up briefly to greet the potential customer, and then looks back down at her magazine.

Then something registers, and her heart stops for what feels like a full minute.

Clary looks back at the customer slowly, like she's trying not to startle a wild animal. The woman’s face is partially hidden by a large floppy hat and a pair of sunglasses, but the resemblance is definitely there. Clary flips back to the page the magazine had been open to when she first picked it up— the article Dot had been reading. She looks back and forth between the picture spread across the page and the woman beginning to make her way to the back corner of the shop before finally summoning up the courage to step out from behind the counter. “Is there anything I can help you with?” Clary asks.

The woman looks directly at her and Clary stops breathing for a second. It’s definitely her. “No, thank you, just looking.”

“Okay, well, if you need anything, just let me know.”

Isabelle Lightwood nods politely, and then continues perusing the different shelves. Eventually, she stops, and her eyes linger on a brilliant ruby necklace. Clary hurries over and takes it out from under the glass. “Would you like to try it on?”

Isabelle looks hesitant, but after a moment, answers, “Yes.”

Clary picks up the necklace and gestures to the mirror in the corner. Isabelle approaches the mirror and Clary brushes Isabelle’s hair back and fastens the necklace around her. Her fingers brush the back of Isabelle’s neck and it’s silly, but her heartbeat picks up when she touches Isabelle. She’s such a little fangirl. Simon is going to flip when she tells him about this.

They’re both staring in the mirror for entirely too long when Isabelle turns to Clary and asks, “Well, what do you think?”

Clary immediately snaps out of whatever starstruck trance she was just under and answers, “I think it looks beautiful on you!”

“Really? You think red’s my color?”

Maybe she’s just not thinking straight after being blown away by the fact that Isabelle Lightwood is asking her, Clary Fray, for fashion advice, but before she can stop herself, Clary blurts out, “With a body like yours, everything’s your color.”

Izzy actually grins at her, bright and beaming, and Clary must be the most embarrassing shade of red right now. “I’ll take it, then.” Isabelle fishes her wallet out of her purse. “How much?”

Clary scurries back to the table the necklace came from to check the price, and then proceeds to the cash register to check Isabelle out. She can't shake the feeling that she's in a dream, about to wake up any moment. Isabelle writes her a check for a good deal more than the necklace actually costs, and then is out the door as quickly as she came in.

Clary would pinch herself if she hadn’t been biting down hard on the inside of her lip for the past few minutes.

She stays staring at the door Isabelle’s just left out of, until Dot comes through it a few seconds later. “Your cappuccino,” Dot says, setting two coffee cups down on the counter and pushing one towards Clary.

“Dot, did you—” Clary means to ask her if she happened to see who just left the store, but she stops herself, shaking her head. If Dot had passed Isabelle Lightwood on the street and noticed, it would’ve been the first thing she mentioned. Clary’s still not entirely sure she didn’t imagine her.

Dot’s too busy looking in a brown bag from the coffee shop to prompt Clary to finish her sentence. “I got you a chocolate muffin, and— crap. They forgot my bagel.” She pulls a receipt from the bottom of the bag. “They rung me up for it and everything. Shit.”

“Stay here, I’ll go back and get it.” Clary steps out from behind the counter, taking the bag and the receipt from Dot, along with her own cup of coffee.

“You’re an angel, Clary.”

“Don’t even mention it.”

—

Clary’s on her way back to the antique store, coffee and bagel in tow, when she turns the corner and crashes into another body, forehead smacking into theirs and coffee spilling over the both of them.

“Oh my god!” the other person exclaims. Clary’s about to tell them to watch where they’re going before looking up and realizing who she's just bumped heads with. She may be a little disoriented from hitting her head, but there’s no doubt that it’s Isabelle Lightwood in front of her, _again_.

“I— holy crap, are you okay?” Clary asks, rooting around in her bag for something to help and _why the hell didn’t the coffee place give her any napkins?_ “I am so sorry! I didn’t see you and—”

“It’s my fault,” Isabelle interrupts, juggling her shopping bags and scrubbing at her shirt with nothing but her bare palms. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and— fuck, I just need to get cleaned up somewhere— god, you have coffee all over you too— do you know if there’s a bathroom anywhere nearby where I could—”

“You can come up to my place,” Clary says, and immediately regrets it, face flushing bright red. “I mean— I live nearby, I have a bathroom, a change of clothes, if you need.” Her face flushes even hotter. She mentally curses herself for offering, becoming aware of how much like a creepy fangirl she must sound. “I mean I totally understand if you don’t want to just come up to some random stranger’s apartment.”

Isabelle looks at her for a second, and her face softens. “How far away is it?”

Wow. Okay. Clary definitely wasn’t expecting that. When she thinks about it, it’s probably not safe for Isabelle to be so trusting. Clary could be a serial killer for all she knows, or at least some creepy stalker. She almost wants to tell Isabelle Lightwood as much, but figures she’s said enough dumb stuff for one day. “It’s literally, like right there and two stories up.” Clary gestures across the street to her apartment building.

Isabelle nods. “Okay. Take me there.” She holds out a hand, which Clary takes after a second, leading her across the street. “I didn’t catch your name, by the way.”

“It’s Clary.” She holds the door to her apartment building open, letting Isabelle pass in front of her.

“Clary,” Isabelle repeats back as if it’s a final piece to a puzzle she’s been trying to put together. “I like that.” She looks up at Clary and smiles, and it’s simple and brilliant. Clary feels every part of her body flush a brighter red than her hair.

“Um, thanks.” She smiles sheepishly. “I mean, it’s not as pretty as Isabelle—”

“Izzy,” she corrects. “You can just call me Izzy.”

“Alright. Izzy.”

Izzy steps aside. “Lead the way.”

“Right.” Clary’s head jerks in a nod and she walks ahead of Isabelle up the stairs and down the hall until they reach her apartment. “It’s probably a mess right now,” Clary says apologetically, fumbling with her keys and opening the door. “The bathroom’s right through there.” She gestures to a door on the right, as if there’s anywhere else the bathroom could be in her tiny, cramped studio apartment. “Do you need a change of clothes, or…?”

“I got it.” Izzy raises her arm up to indicate to her shopping bags and disappears into the bathroom.

As soon as the door shuts behind her, Clary starts making an effort to straighten up her apartment. She gathers up some of the dirty clothes from her floor and shoves them in her hamper. There’s a mess of papers strewn across the top of her desk and bookshelf— everything from bills to old christmas cards to doodles and sketches she’d done in her spare time— and she does her best to organize it into different piles. Organization isn’t exactly Clary’s strong point though, and after a moment she gives up, shoving the papers aside before she gets too distracted going through them. Instead, she goes over to her shoebox of a kitchen area and fills her tea kettle with water. Izzy likes tea right? Clary could've sworn she read in an article somewhere that Isabelle likes green tea. She puts the teakettle on the stove to boil. Fuck, does she even have green tea?

Clary's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the bathroom door opening. Izzy comes out of the bathroom in a glittery crop top and a very tight leather miniskirt. It’s more of an evening outfit than anything, something Clary would expect to see someone wearing at a nightclub, not walking through the streets at 9:30 in the morning. She dismisses it as Isabelle being limited to only the clothes in her shopping bags to change into. And god, Clary’s not complaining. It’s not exactly a secret that Isabelle is one of the most beautiful women in the world. Clary’s not about to be offended that Izzy is standing in her apartment in a gorgeous outfit.

Izzy looks up, makes eye contact with Clary, and smiles.

Fuck. She’s been staring. And Izzy has noticed Clary staring. Clary can feel her cheeks turning red again. God, she is so gay. “You look great,” she says, just to break the silence.

“Thanks. I’ll probably change when I get back to my hotel, but it’s something to wear in the meantime.”

"Um, do you need anything else? Food, drink...? I can make tea. I'm making tea, actually."

"You're very sweet, but no thank you."

“I can pay to have your other clothes dry cleaned, if you need me to.”

“That’s not necessary.” Isabelle is grinning at Clary like she’s some funny, enchanting little thing. It makes her feel self-conscious. “Thank you though. For offering. And for letting me clean up here. I really appreciate it.

“It really wasn’t a problem,” Clary insists. “I’m sorry for making it so you had to clean up in the first place.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It was my fault anyway. Should’ve been looking where I was going.” Izzy sets her bags down and wraps Clary in a hug. “Thank you, again.”

After getting over the initial shock, Clary returns the hug. “You’re welcome. It was nice meeting you.” Clary pulls back. “I mean, surreal, but nice.” _Surreal, but nice? Seriously?_ She curses herself internally for continuing to embarrass herself, but she doesn’t break eye contact with Izzy.

Isabelle holds her gaze for a long moment, for what could be anywhere between a second and a century, and then slowly reaches a hand up to brush a strand of Clary’s hair behind her ear. She takes a step forward as she does so, and Clary backs up into the wall. Izzy reaches her hand around to the back of Clary’s neck.

And kisses her.

Clary’s eyes go wide in shock, but she doesn’t pull away because _Isabelle Lightwood is kissing her_. Isabelle Lightwood is pushing her up against the wall and kissing her, hard and passionate and hungry, and Clary has that brief moment of panic that she gets when she knows she’s in a dream but doesn’t know how to wake up. Izzy must feel her body tense up because she pulls away and looks at Clary apologetically, and opens her mouth to say something before Clary kisses her back.

The kiss ends abruptly when the sound of the teakettle whistling on the stove startles them both, and Izzy pulls away, eyes wide and frantic. “I should go,” she says, gathering her bags. She starts to leave, and before she’s out of the apartment, she turns and says to Clary, “You probably shouldn’t tell anyone about this. Please.”

_As if anyone would believe her._ “Of course,” Clary says, and Isabelle closes the front door behind her as she leaves.

The teakettle is still whistling, and it briefly occurs to Clary that she should take it off the stove. She pushes that thought to the back of her mind. Clary looks up at the ceiling, closes her eyes for a long moment, and swears she sees stars.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on my [tumblr](http://emreys.tumblr.com/)


End file.
